


Smoke From An Old Flame

by denorios



Series: Open Your Eyes (And Realize We Are One) [3]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2010-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denorios/pseuds/denorios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Open Your Eyes (And Realize We Are One) and 'Though I May Not Look Like Much (I'm Yours)'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke From An Old Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks are due in no small part to my wonderful beta farad, without whom this fic would probably never have seen the light of day because i would still be beating my head against my desk and throwing my computer across the room.

It's two weeks before Chris has any real time alone with Vin, and it feels like the longest two weeks of his life.

Neither of them are recovering as well as Nathan would like: Vin was thin and worn-out even before he was shot, and spending his days in a hard chair and his nights on an even harder floor has set Chris' own recovery back considerably. The day after Vin wakes up Nathan issues Chris with an ultimatum - he can stay at the clinic and share the bed with Vin, or he can recover back at his shack but both Buck and Josiah have to stay with him. There's relief and more than a little amusement in Nathan's eyes when Chris nods and says he'll stay.

It takes five minutes and the support of Nathan's strong arms for Vin to move and he's pale and shaking by the time there's enough room for Chris to slide in next to him. But his fingers entwine gratefully with Chris' beneath the folds of the blanket and before long his head settles on Chris' shoulder and he's fast asleep. Chris stares at Nathan fiercely, daring him to say anything, but Nathan just shakes his head at the pair of them and smiles.

Vin is a heavy sleeper, unlike Chris, and many times he leans over Vin to reassure himself he still breathes. One night Vin's eyes flicker open beneath him and there's a charged moment of stillness as they stare at each other, faces inches apart. Vin's hand slowly traces a path up Chris' thigh to curl over his hipbone and Chris finds his lips just brushing and catching Vin's, less a kiss than a sharing of breath.

Neither of them have the strength for anything more, but he's always been one for actions over words and he needs Vin to know. The tenderness in Vin's touch as he rubs a thumb across Chris' cheekbone and the softness in his eyes tell him the message has been understood, loud and clear.

Nathan grunts in his sleep and stirs noisily and they break apart, Chris rolling onto his back and staring miserably in the darkness. Patience has never been one of his strengths, and once he's made a decision he's anxious to pursue it. And he's getting impatient to be alone with Vin. He's hyper-aware of Vin's body beside him, the firm press of his thigh alongside Chris', their shoulders brushing every time one of them moves, the tickle of Vin's hair against Chris' neck as he sleeps.

He spends an hour one morning just staring at Vin's hands, fascinated by the irresistible combination of strength and gentleness, and when Nathan turns his back for a moment he brings Vin's palm to his mouth. He traces the whorls and lines with his tongue and is gratified by the shiver that runs through Vin's body.

"Don't start somethin' you cain't finish, cowboy," Vin whispers, his lips quirking in an even grin. "Ain't fair." His thumb rubs the corner of Chris' lips and Chris turns his head and takes it in his mouth, sucking gently, tongue sliding across the callused pad, his eyes locked on Vin's.

"Can't even start somethin' stuck in this damn bed, let alone finish it," Chris responds with a grin, releasing Vin's hand and affecting an innocent expression as Nathan moves back to them, clean bandages in hand. Vin submits patiently to Nathan's ministrations, only minute winces showing his discomfort, but he clutches Chris' hand so hard his knuckles show white and he's sweating and breathing hard when Nathan pats his shoulder and straightens up.

Chris thought he would find it strange to share a bed again after so long, thought he would feel cramped and hot with another warm body so close to his. He's shared a bed with Buck before when he had to and found his grunts and snores intolerable; the never-ending scratching and shifting driving him on more than one occasion to shove Buck off the side and onto the floor.

But it's different with Vin. Chris finds his presence reassuring, likes to be able to press up behind him and feel each breath Vin takes through his own chest. He likes the way Vin moves close in his sleep and the way his palm settles low on Chris' stomach, fingers just brushing the bandages that still circle his chest, likes the feel of Vin's soft exhales against his neck and the way his eyes blink sleepily up at him in the morning. He likes going to sleep with the image of Vin fixed in his mind's eye and waking up to the same sight.

It's been a long time since he thought of the future as something to look forward to. He's carried the weight of grief and rage on his shoulders so long that it takes him a few days to realize that it's not only the slowly healing ache of the gunshot that's receding. Vin is changing so much of Chris' life without even knowing it, just by being a part of it. So many aspects of himself that Chris once thought were written in stone, immutable and immovable, are quietly falling away, falling behind, and he knows one day he'll wake and find himself a new man, a better man.

One day, he thinks, one day he will be able to stand in front of Vin and say 'look, look at me, everything I am is because of you, you own me, body and soul, because you made me'. And he knows Vin will neither laugh nor turn away; Vin will just look at him with those eyes that always see straight through to Chris' inner core and smile.

***

If Chris touches him one more time Vin thinks he might explode. He jokes about Chris starting something he can't finish, but the truth is every touch starts something, every brush of his hand, every whisper of Chris' breath on his skin.

Every night that he falls asleep with the comforting solidness of Chris at his back is an unlooked-for gift and he lies awake as long as he can, savoring the feel of Chris' warm bulk curled up behind him. Every morning when he awakens there's a moment of disorientation and disbelief, and it's not until Chris smiles a 'good morning', and runs a gentle hand through his hair and Vin's skin begins to spark and tingle that he knows he's awake, not dead, not dreaming, awake and ridiculously, deliriously happy.

Even if Nathan wasn't there, and the door wasn't constantly opening to admit one of the others, or Mary and Judge Travis, or Nettie Wells and Casey, even if they were blissfully alone in Chris' shack with nothing but time and touch ahead of them, Vin knows full well his own body would let him down. He wouldn't even be able to begin to pin Chris down, to kiss him so deeply he can taste Chris on the back of his tongue, to trace a path from his collarbone to his navel with fingers and lips and tongue, to dip lower and take Chris' cock into his mouth, to bring them both to the edge of madness, secure in the knowledge that neither will let the other fall.

Vin has never been so frustrated with his own weakness before. His one consolation is that he's not suffering alone, that whatever he feels is echoing within Chris too. He's woken several times to feel a hard nudge at the back of his thigh and turned his head to catch Chris' rueful grin. He wants to push back against Chris, wants to turn his head fully and catch those sinful lips between his own, wants to rut and bite and thrust. But he sighs and Chris drops a furtive kiss on his shoulder and calls a greeting to Nathan as he sits up in bed.

They've scarcely had a moment alone since Vin woke up. It took a full week before Vin had the strength to talk about what happened since he rode out alone after Ella, about Benedict Franklin and his brother Daniel and how Benedict left him for dead on the range, before he learns about how Peso showed up in town in the middle of the night with a bloody saddle and no rider and led them right back to Vin.

"We didn't tell Chris," Buck said with a grin and a gentle nudge of Chris' shoulder. "If he knew you were hurt out there he'd've dragged himself outta bed and gone lookin' himself, and he'd'a probably shot Nathan for tryin' to stop him." Vin had smiled and had to fight the urge to turn and look at Chris. He knows if he had there'd have been no point trying to hide anymore because his whole heart would have been in his eyes for anyone to see.

He knows he's not the only one surprised at the change in Chris, even if he's the only one who knows why. He could see it in Nathan's eyes that morning when Chris agreed so readily to stay in the clinic, can see it every time Buck looks at Chris, happy and concerned at the same time. Even JD is looking at Chris a little oddly. He knows they're all waiting for the real Chris Larabee to come back, for the rage and revenge to take over, when he'll stop lying in bed and start after Ella. But Vin has the memory of Chris' promise still ringing in his ears, and whatever else Chris Larabee is, he's a man of his word.

He needs to talk to Chris though. He's never been much of a one for conversation, and even less so when it comes to Chris, so much of their communication seeming to come through looks and touches and grins, but this is one time they need to talk. And whichever god watches over children, fools and gunslingers seems to be listening, because one morning they wake to find Nathan packing medical supplies and Buck and Ezra hovering at the door with a tale of cowboys and cattle herds and trouble.

Chris sighs as the door shuts, shoulders bowed and eyes closed, and he's silent for a long moment. Vin is worried, is always worried when it comes to Chris, but when he places a questioning hand on Chris' shoulder the face that turns to his is bright with laughter and for a moment Vin is struck dumb, lost in the beauty of those smiling green eyes.

Chris cups Vin's face in his hands and presses his lips very gently to Vin's. Vin thinks about that first kiss for a moment, that almost-kiss, just a whisper of lips touching in the night, but then Chris sighs against Vin's mouth, his lips part and Vin's memory floats away, the past blurred and consumed by the immediacy of this moment. He tilts his head to the side for better access, lifting his hands to hold Chris' head, and the first tentative brush of Chris' tongue against his almost overwhelms him.

He's lost in sensation, drunk on the feel of Chris' lips on his. And the thought that this is Chris he's kissing excites him even more, Chris, the man who knows him better than anyone, knows him inside and out, backwards and forwards, through all the ups and downs, this man who knows him and somehow still cares; that it's Chris' hands on his face, Chris' tongue in his mouth, Chris' hard body pressed up against his, Chris making small sighing noises, Chris Chris Chris...

He pulls back, gasping and breathless and light-headed enough that he has to rest his forehead against Chris' and just concentrate on breathing. Slowly the feeling passes and when he's sure he's not going to pass out he opens his eyes and gazes at Chris. He looks as exhausted as Vin feels, and when their eyes meet he drops his head to Vin's shoulder and laughs. "We're like a couple of ol' timers," he chuckles, his voice muffled. "One kiss and we're ready to drop."

"Why, sir," Vin says, affecting a Southern drawl. "I believe you have quite overwhelmed me with the force of your ardor." He squeezes the back of Chris' neck affectionately, fingers rubbing and soothing at the tight muscles there. He feels like he will never have enough of touching this man, of having the right to touch him whenever he wants. He wonders if the novelty of it will ever wear off and one day he'll come to take these kisses and caresses for granted. He can't imagine ever doing so, can't imagine a day when Chris will ever be anything less than a joy and a delight and an endless, welcome surprise.

"You sound like Ezra," Chris grins, lifting his head and kissing Vin quickly on the mouth, pulling back teasingly as Vin moves to follow him. He bobs his head for a few seconds, evading Vin's lips, dropping feather-light kisses on Vin's temple, his cheek, his eyelid, his nose, until Vin tires of the game and holds Chris' head steady as he kisses him.

"I hope Ezra ain't never said that to you," Vin murmurs against Chris' mouth, his own lips crooking in amusement as Chris sputters at the thought. "'Cause I ain't the sharin' type."

"Good." Chris smoothes the tousled hair back from Vin's forehead, fingers lingering on the fading bruises patterning Vin's cheekbone and temple. His expression sobers, although the warm tender light in his eyes seems to grow brighter, and he cups Vin's jaw gently. "'Cause I meant what I said, Vin, 'bout always. You and me. I mean it."

Vin smiles and lays his own hand over Chris'. He'll never understand how he could be so fortunate, what gods were laying his path when they led him to Chris, but for now he just accepts it with a full and grateful heart. He turns his head to lay a soft kiss in the palm of Chris' hand and says, "The boys are worried 'bout you, you know. Wondering where that ol' Larabee fire has gone. They don't understand why you ain't bustin' to get after Ella."

Chris leans back against the pillows, pulling Vin gently with him until Vin is tucked beneath his arm, head resting lightly on Chris' shoulder. He presses his face into the tangled curls, nuzzling gently until Vin squirms and tilts his head back for another long kiss.

"The way I see it," Chris says, his words slow and thoughtful, his fingers carding through Vin's hair, "is if I go after Ella, you're gonna come with me." Vin nods against Chris' shoulder, lacing his fingers through Chris' hand that rests on Vin's chest. He loves Chris' hands, loves every nick and scar, loves the callus on his trigger finger, the faint traces of burn marks on the backs. When he thinks about feeling those hands moving on his body, he shivers and closes his eyes briefly.

Chris laughs softly at Vin's nod and continues. "Even if I try and lose you, you're gonna find me, right?" His voice drops a note, softens and flattens. "And you nearly died, Vin. You don't know...when they brought you in, I thought you were dead. I thought I'd killed you." The hand moving through Vin's hair stills for a moment and when Vin looks up Chris' eyes are far away and pained.

"It weren't you," he protests, hating to see Chris blame himself. "It was Franklin. It weren't nothin' to do with Ella." It was his own damn past getting in the way. He reaches up to grip Chris' chin and pulls his head round, forcing him to meet Vin's eyes. "It weren't you," he says again and shakes his head.

Chris smiles at him, places a kiss between Vin's eyes and says firmly, "It was me. You were out there 'cause of me. I don't care who pulled the trigger, you woulda been dead 'cause of me." There's a barely perceptible crack in his voice as he speaks and his hand tightens on Vin's. "And I ain't prepared to take that risk, not again. Ella ain't worth it. Revenge ain't worth it."

He presses his cheek to Vin's, eyes closed and breath coming in hard fast pants. Vin can feel him trembling, but he knows there are no words he can say that will change Chris' mind, take away the weight of blame he feels. Just as there are no words Chris can ever say that will take away the guilt Vin feels at missing his shot, missing Ella, letting her get away. They'll always carry the image of the other in their minds, bleeding and hurt, and if it makes them more careful, Vin thinks, perhaps it's not a bad thing.

But then Chris jerks back, his eyes alight with mischief, and says, "But hell, I ain't sayin' she walks down the street right now I'm not gonna shoot her."

"You'll have to get in line," Vin mutters darkly, but there's little real rancor in his voice. He's finding it hard to hold onto his hatred right now, hard to hold on to anything that isn't Chris' arm around him, Chris' shoulder pillowing his cheek, Chris' fingers moving slowly through his hair, teasing out every snarl and tangle.

He can understand how Ella could have loved Chris so deeply, so madly, to the exclusion of everything else, even her own sanity. But he has never wanted to possess Chris, never wanted Chris to be anything other than who and what he is. Ella wanted to own Chris. Vin is content to belong to him, and whilst he will never lay any claim on Chris, will never do anything but stand back and let him fly free, he trusts that Chris will always come back to him.

***

It's a further week before Nathan lets them out of the clinic, wrapped up in blankets and hobbling like old men, and even then it's only as far as the two rocking chairs he places by the railing just outside the clinic door. "So's I can keep an eye on you," he says as he eases Chris down into the chair and tucks the blanket more securely around him. Already ensconced in his chair beside Chris, Vin smothers a grin at Nathan's mother hen act, at Chris batting away his fussing hands with exasperated fondness.

If Nathan knows about Chris and Vin he's keeping it to himself, but Chris is fairly sure he knows. They've woken up enough times wrapped around each other, arms and legs tangled in intimate knots, Vin's head on Chris' shoulder, Chris' face pressed into Vin's hair, fingers entwined, breath coming slow and easy and in sync. Nathan's no fool and such a sight would be hard to miss in the small clinic. They try to be more circumspect, always start the night lying chastely side-by-side in the small bed, but in sleep they gravitate towards each other, bodies reaching out unconsciously.

Chris and Vin have always been easy with each other's bodies, always been in the habit of touching hands and shoulders and hips and backs, but Nathan won't have missed the new lingering touches, the small caresses, the hitch in Vin's breath when Chris runs his fingers down Vin's spine, the way Chris' eyes flicker shut when Vin leans in close and his breath feathers across Chris' skin. No, Nathan's no fool. Chris is almost certain he knows.

But he doesn't care. Let him know. Let the whole world know. If he had the strength he'd stand up and bellow across Four Corners that he loves Vin Tanner and doesn't care who knows it, will fight anyone who has a problem with it. He'd forgotten what this feeling was like, the heady intoxicating feeling of new love. He can't keep the smile from his face whenever he looks at Vin, knows he's grinning like a giddy idiot and the thought only makes him smile that much harder.

"You makin' sheep's-eyes at me?" Vin asks, eyes closed, face tilted up to the light. The morning sun paints his skin in tones of red and gold, but he's still pale from their enforced stay in the clinic and too thin for Chris' comfort. Behind them, Nathan's footsteps disappear down the clinic stairs as he heads to the saloon for breakfast, his voice floating back as he issues a warning about coming back to find either of them out of their chairs.

"Yep," Chris answers, watching Vin bask in the sunlight. He's like a cat, Chris thinks, any minute he'll start purring. "Got a problem with that?" He extricates a hand from the layers of blankets surrounding him, reaches across the slight gap between them and runs his fingers through Vin's hair. Vin leans into the caress, eyes still closed, nuzzling his face into Chris' palm. Definitely like a cat.

"Nope." Vin smiles and opens his eyes. As always Chris is momentarily taken aback by the brilliance of Vin's eyes, the bright blue gaze pinning him in place. He could quite easily lose himself in those eyes. One morning he awoke to find Vin watching him and they lay quietly for nearly an hour, just looking, watching each other breathe. He could watch Vin for hours and never get tired, always finding something new to wonder over and love.

Vin is the first to turn away, his attention caught by Mary Travis walking down the street towards the clinic. She raises a hand in greeting, a smile blossoming across her face as Chris lifts his in return briefly. Mary has been avoiding him since he was shot, so there must be a reason for her visit now. She's disappointed in him, he knows, disappointed and probably disgusted by his behavior over Ella. But she'll get over it, and if she doesn't he's really not that concerned. He likes her well enough; she's a good woman and a good mother to Billy, but he has no desire to be what she wants him to be. He's had enough of women who want to change him.

"How are you feeling today?" Mary asks as she comes to stand by their chairs, leaning back slightly against the railing. Vin nods and murmurs something vague, hiding a smile behind his hand as Mary's attention shifts all-too-quickly from him to lock on to Chris.

The sunlight haloes her hair, making it glow like fire, and Chris has to squint to look at her. She's a beautiful woman but nothing stirs in his breast, his breath stays level and even, and he has no desire for her at all. But he only to glance at the man beside him, only has to close his eyes and feel Vin's presence for his heart to start pounding and his hands to trembling. Life is strange sometimes, he thinks. If anyone told him two years ago a scruffy world-weary tracker with bright blue eyes and a Texan drawl would saunter into his life and steal his heart, he would have laughed and laughed.

"Doin' good," he says shortly, tugging the blankets tighter around him. Mary makes an aborted movement towards him, to help him, but her hand barely makes it halfway before she stops and steps back again.

"There's a letter for you," she says, handing him a thick cream envelope. Chris recognizes the handwriting instantly, and for a moment his heart stops. He examines the graceful looping script, desperately trying to school his expression into something blank and noncommittal. He lifts his gaze slowly to Vin's, and something must show on his face because Vin stiffens in his chair, forehead furrowed in concern and confusion.

"Thanks," Chris says, and when she sees nothing more is forthcoming her face falls and Mary turns away.

He turns his attention back to the letter, holding it so tightly his knuckles show white with the strain. His eyes trace every loop and curlicue, every inkblot and tiny imperfection in the thick paper. Nothing but the best for Ella. Dimly he hears the sound of Mary's retreating footsteps and when they fade away to nothing, he raises his head and looks at Vin. He's already watching Chris closely and when he catches Chris' eye, he reaches out and grips Chris' wrist.

"Ella?" he asks softly and Chris nods. Vin sighs and his fingers tighten briefly on Chris' wrist before he lets go. He sits back in his chair and his eyes flutter closed for a moment before he nods, as though a decision has been made, and says, "You gonna read it?"

This is a test, Chris thinks. A test of his willpower, a test of the depth of his commitment to Vin, to their future. Whatever Ella has written, whatever message she wants to impart, does he really want to read it? He can feel his stomach churning, bile rising in his throat, and he closes his eyes, lips pressed shut tightly, fighting back the nausea.

"Chris?" Vin's voice is hushed and gentle, but he's not pushing, not pressing. Chris knows that Vin will abide by whatever Chris decides; if Chris rises from his chair this minute to ride after Ella, Vin will go with him. Vin would drag himself out of his own sickbed and into the saddle, tired and weary and heartsick, and follow Chris to the ends of the earth and never utter a word of reproach or condemnation. Is that what he wants?

"No," he says suddenly and opens his eyes. Vin is leaning forward, shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow, and his eyes widen in surprise at Chris' words. He doesn't understand, Chris can see he doesn't understand. He wishes he could explain it to Vin, wishes he could crack open his heart and drag it into the light, show Vin exactly what's roiling in his chest. His throat is tight, his head aches and he has no words to make Vin understand. He needs to show him.

Chris rises slowly, fingers fumbling for purchase on the back of the chair and turns away, the letter crumpled in his fist. His progress into the clinic is slow and painful and it takes him a moment to find what he's looking for. He hears Vin call his name but his throat is too constricted to respond. He sinks down onto the bed to catch his breath, hand pressed against his side, and just concentrates on breathing. His fist is clenched so tightly around the letter that it aches, and he has to force his fingers to relax their grip.

There's a dragging sound, shuffled faltering steps and a harsh panting, and when Chris looks up Vin is propped in the doorway, clinging to the frame for support, his face pale and sweat standing out across his forehead. He looks at Chris for a long moment, his eyes full of fear and doubt, and the sudden knowledge that it's not just sweat trickling down Vin's cheeks stabs at Chris' heart. Vin has followed him, will always follow him, even if doing so breaks his own heart.

Chris is on his feet in a moment, the pain in his chest forgotten, and he catches Vin as he sways unsteadily, arms going around him tightly. "I'm sorry," Chris mutters roughly, face pressed into Vin's neck, his lips moving against Vin's skin. He can feel Vin trembling in his arms and he holds him tighter, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of Vin's neck as he twists his head and presses kisses to Vin's temple and cheek, kissing each away bead of sweat, every tear, lapping at every trace of salt on Vin's skin. "I'm sorry."

He leads him gently to the bed, hands lingering on wrist and hair and collarbone as he eases him down carefully. Vin is still pale, still shaking, but his eyes are softer now and the wildness in them has faded. Chris silently holds the letter out to Vin, who takes it warily, bewilderment writ plain across his face. He looks down at the letter in his hand, back up to Chris and then down at the letter again.

Chris sits down beside him, taking Vin's hand in his own and pressing something into it. When Vin looks down at the lucifer lying in his palm, Chris smiles suddenly. He feels as though an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders; the decision has been made and he knows he'll never regret it. Whatever Ella has written, whatever she wants him to know, it's not important. He doesn't need it in his life, doesn't need anything more than the man sitting next to him, hand and heart open, confusion warring with love in his eyes.

Chris leans across the gap between them, hands reaching for Vin's face, cradling, stroking, his fingers tangling in Vin's hair. He presses his forehead to Vin's, not caring about Nathan or Four Corners or anyone else who might walk in, and whispers, "We'll burn it. Whatever's in that letter, we don't need to know," and he knows from Vin's sharp intake of breath that he hasn't missed the import of that 'we'.

He watches as Vin strikes the lucifer against the bed frame, watches as he holds the flame to the edge of the letter, watches as the cream paper blackens and curls, and though the scent of smoke still makes him gag he holds still, watching as Ella's words are consumed by fire. It feels appropriate somehow. It began with smoke and flame, began three years ago with a burned-out homestead and the death of his dreams, and now it's ending with fire and a new beginning.

Vin drops the letter into the firebowl near the window and reaches up to cup Chris' face, eyes damp and shining, mouth curving in a delighted smile. His lips work as though he wants to speak, but he can only press soft kisses to Chris' mouth, over and over, until Chris growls at the back of his throat and deepens the kiss, Vin's lips parting instantly beneath his. Anyone could walk in and see them, see Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner practically in each other's laps, tongues in each other's mouths, hands stroking and touching and teasing, and Chris doesn't care.

"_U kamakutu nu_," Vin chokes suddenly against Chris' mouth, and even though he doesn't know the words, doesn't understand the language, he feels the truth of them in his heart. He knows instinctively that it's the first time Vin has ever uttered those words, knows they must feel strange in his mouth. The thought that it's for him alone, that for the rest of his life Vin will say those words to him and only him is almost too much and he freezes, suddenly overcome with emotion. Speech is impossible and he can only shake his head and sigh.

Vin pulls back just far enough to see Chris without going cross-eyed. "Chris?" he asks, and the sudden fear in his expression sends chills down Chris' back, makes him reach for Vin and kiss him fiercely, trying to pour into the kiss everything he feels, everything he wants Vin to know, everything he's ever thought and loved and dreamed about Vin. Vin Tanner, he wants to shout. Vin Tanner. Vin Tanner.

"Yes," he laughs. "Yes. Vin. Always."

He won't say it, perhaps won't ever say. He'd never felt comfortable with the words, even with Sarah. It was always too much, too honest, too open. But the shy delight in Vin's expression catches at his heart, makes it suddenly feel too big and odd-shaped in his chest, and he can't breathe for the joy of it. "Always," he says again, and each repetition feels like 'I love you', like perhaps one day he could never have enough of saying it. "Always."


End file.
